Mimicry
by Omnicat
Summary: Why, in the name of all that is sacred, was Heero in his room, dressed in a pink summer dress over khaki Preventor uniform pants, and with bleached hair? Help Trowa find out, won't you?


**Title:** Mimicry

**Author:** Omnicat v''v

**Rating:** K+

**Genre:** Mystery, Humor - or more accurately, Parody, (about) Romance.

**Spoilers & desirable foreknowledge:** Nothing, really. Read a couple of fanfics and you'll know enough to understand this. Hihi.

**Warnings:** Silly. _Silly._ **Silly.** **_Silly._** SILLY! Oh, and slight cross-dressing.

**Pairings:** I can't tell you. So if the Warnings haven't scared you off already, read at your own discretion.

**Soundtrack:** It would be _so_ disturbing if there was a song for this fic... (If you know any,_ tell me_!)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, I don't make money through this, now go read!

**Summary:** Why, in the name of all that is sacred, was Heero in his room, dressed in a pink summer dress over khaki Preventor uniform pants, and with bleached hair? Help Trowa find out, won't you? One–shot.

**Author's Note:** Don't ask me where this came from. Really, _don't._ I don't know. I blame it on the hormones and blood loss. So unless I get into an equally weird mood again someday, this will remain a one-shot. The title was chosen by randomly opening my dictionary, and what do you know, it opened on a page where something remotely fitting caught my eye. In other words, it's as random as the story itself. Read and... well, my usual phrase is 'Read and enjoy!', so just try to do that, okay?

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**Mimicry**

Trowa trudged up the marble stairs, fully intending to spend the rest of the afternoon on the balcony of his hotel room, reading a book. There was only so much he could take of Wufei and Sally's bickering and a half naked Quatre giving him pleading looks while being chased around the pool by an equally scantly clad Dorothy, before his patience began to wear thin and his libido didn't fit in his swimming trunks anymore. Especially when the Mediterranean heat was at its most sultry. He cared for his friends too much to subject them to his impatience. Luckily, none of his companions had objected to his departure, having more 'important' things on their minds. Even Cathy, who used every available moment to tan, had hardly noticed him leave. Relena and Heero, Duo and Hilde, Noin and Zechs and Lady Une and Mariemeia had left the hotel early in the morning, before the predatorial routine had even started. Lucky bastards.

Trowa swiped the cardkey through the pad and stepped inside the room he shared with his sister, noting that the maids must have been early that day, because the curtains were closed. But then his soldier's senses told him that something was off.

"Who's there?" he asked, urging whoever it was to answer if he/she/they knew what was good for them by suddenly holding a loaded gun in his hand.

Whoever it was cleared his or her throat, at which Trowa whirled around to present them with the barrel of his gun. There, in the farthest, most shadowed corner, stood a hunched androgynous figure, whose sole aim seemed to be to become invisible. Trowa squinted in the twilight, only to widen his eyes dramatically when he got a good look. The hand holding the gun dropped powerlessly to his side.

"_Heero?"_

'Heero' grunted. He - for Trowa _knew_ Heero was a he, from past experience - stepped forward after Trowa had opened the heavy curtains, scowling for all he was worth. Trowa Poker Face Barton found it hard not to gape.

Heero was dressed up.

Heero Yuy.

Dressed up in a short, frilly, pale pink summer dress.

Over a pair of khaki Preventor uniform pants.

With bleached platinum blond hair.

Logical examination of these facts resulted in nothing coherent.

"What the..." Trowa rubbed his eyes. He looked again. No change. "Heero, what's going on here?"

"Trowa." was the not-very-helpful response.

"Yeah, that's me. What is up with you, Heero?"

Heero seemed reluctant to speak, for which Trowa couldn't blame him. Eventually he grounded out: "You like what you see?"

Trowa blinked. "Say what?"

Heero snarled. "Take a good look Trowa, 'cause you'll never get to see this again."

"Why am I seeing this in the first place?"

"What do you see, Trowa?"

Trowa's brow furled. "I... see the man known to most as Heero Yuy, estimated to be nineteen years of age, in a hotel room that is not his own, wearing a summer dress and half a Preventor uniform. He has bleached his hair. Did you get _that_ wasted from the table-wine last night, Heero? I mean, I know you can't hold your liquor, but we're on this holiday on Lady Une's orders and Quatre and Relena's death threats, I don't think it's wise if we -"

"You're rambling."

Trowa shut up. Heero took a deep breath to get his rising temper in check.

"Trowa, tell me what you think of me, when you see me like this." he said, in clipped, flat tones. He_ struck a pose,_ cocking his hip and lowering his head so he had to look up at Trowa through his bleached bangs.

_I am speechless._ Trowa though. _But that's nothing new, is it?_ he quickly added when he saw the glare Heero was giving him through said bangs. While Trowa had a thing for blondes, it usually concerned pale skinned blonds, and he thought that Heero's hereditary tan, deepened by the past week of sun, clashed with the new shade of his hair. Give him Quatre, who had been seductively slippery with layer upon layer of sun block since the group had arrived in Noin's hometown to enjoy their mandatory vacation, anytime.

"It's unusual." Trowa answered somewhat cautiously. "If you're going to make this your new look go ahead, but personally, I think you should take a while to reconsider."

Heero growled in frustration. "That's not what I meant. What feelings does my appearance excite?"

Something dawned on Trowa. "Is this one of your jokes again, Heero? I'm sorry, but I don't get it this time."

Heero growled louder. "No joke." he snapped. "What does the sight of me remind you of?"

"A hung-over Heero Yuy? Heero Yuy in a dress and half a Preventor uniform, with dyed blond hair? A closet cross dresser caught in the act?"

It seemed to become harder and harder for Heero not to lose his patience. He brought one hand up to his ear, while the other shielded his mouth while he angrily mumbled, seemingly to himself, something that sounded like: "It's not working!"

The sound of static (Heero flinched) and another faint, clearly digital voice reached Trowa's ears, and his confusion grew.

"What? No way!" Heero hissed. More crackling, another pained face from Heero. "This is - _mumble mumble, mumble_ - not doing it!" One more outburst of crackling from his earpiece, and Heero snarled: "All right, I'll do it."

Heero hiked up his dress in order to rummage his pants pocket. He took out a crumpled scrap of paper, stuffed the skirt of the dress inside his pants, creating an odd bulge around his waist, and smoothed out the paper. He then held the piece of paper - which turned out to be the shape of a teacup - in front of him and gave the most ridiculous persiflage of a sweet expression Trowa had ever seen. Whatever Heero said, it was beginning to look more like a joke by the minute.

"Now who do I remind you of." he demanded to know, his face still set in a huge fake grin.

"A nutcase." was Trowa's immediate answer. "Heero, just tell me what's going on."

Heero's impression instantly reverted back to the much more reassuring one of murderous rage. He threw the paper-teacup down furiously, going as far as to jump up in the air and stamp on it when it didn't fall hard enough. His hand went back to his ear.

"You hear that? Game's over. I've humiliated myself enough, he's gonna hear it directly. No more fancy schemes." The earpiece was tossed on Catherine's bed just as it erupted in static and frantic voices. "And the dress goes off!" Heero called after it, suiting the action to the word. Despite the shade of his hair, his lean and muscled, tanned torso was a sight to behold in the sharp light falling through the sliding glass doors. Heero's physique hadn't suffered from the enduring peace, that much was for sure. Trowa committed the sight to his more treasured memories.

"Don't rip it!" a shrill, distorted voice warned over the tiny communication device. Just a little too late. Heero looked caught for a moment, before the annoyed look slid back into place.

Trowa folded his arms over his chest and waited.

Heero stood before him in his full, scant height, hands fisted at his sides and bleached head held high. His first words: "It wasn't my idea."

"I kind of gathered that." Trowa said dryly.

"They blackmailed me, Relena and Duo, along with Hilde and Mariemeia. Used compromising footage to make me dress up like this."

"They provided you with the outfit and the dye, too?"

"Relena's dress and one of Duo's prank packets of hair dye."

"That's truly a relief, Heero."

"Hn. They made me dress up like Quatre in order to make you realise your love. Or lust, whichever would kick in first."

Trowa stared at him, hard and incredulous. It explained a lot. It didn't explain a lot else.

"You dressed up like Quatre..." he repeated slowly "to make me realise I'm attracted to you? Because you know I like blondes in pastel colours? But aren't you and Relena... going a little steady?"

Heero shook his head, his lips pursed. "Not that you're attracted to _me._ That you're attracted to Quatre."

There really wasn't any chance for Trowa to respond with anything other than staring in this entire conversation, was there? "...but I already _know_ I'm attracted to Quatre."

Silence.

The earpiece, looking sheepish just lying on the bed, received such a forceful glare Trowa was surprised it didn't explode. Eventually, Duo's voice could be heard. "Okay, unforeseen circumstances. We couldn't have known that, 'cause you never tell us these kinds of things. But you're not exactly doing anything about it, either."

"Dorothy is already after Quatre. Literally."

Heero snorted. "Let me tell you something about Dorothy. It's your sister you should be worried about around her, not Quatre. Those two are both as straight as pretzels. That game of tag they've been playing the entire week? It's a scheme to get you to come and save Quatre."

Trowa, once again, stared at him. Well, that certainly was useful information.

"But..." Heero looked down on himself. "Didn't I make you think of Quatre at all?"

"Well... that's kinda hard. You're Heero, and Quatre is Quatre. The two of you can't be decently compared."

"Hn. Well, I have to go now." Heero announced, picking up his things. "Gotta live up to some unkept death threats and dye my hair brown again."

Unfortunately, no-one had ever bothered to tell him that blond and brown so soon after each other makes moss-green. So afterwards, there was not only the incriminating footage from security cameras of Heero chasing Duo around in his laughable state (complete with the dress, as not to break the code of decency in the fancy hotel), but also half a vacation worth of footage of what was affectionately referred to by Mariemeia as Heero Fungus-Head.

Needless to say that Heero remained the subject of bribery for a long time.

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**PSAN:** Okay, I know for a fact that crackfics like this one usually attract quite a few crackreviewers, so there is no excuse for not reviewing, dear crackers. Tell me, when did you figure it out? I didn't, until it was already much too late. It took me _hours..._ :cracks up: Ouch, bad joke.

Silver Winged Dragon has written a little sequel to this fic, called _Name Calling_. If you liked this, go read that after you have reviewed! You can find it in my Favourite Stories list.


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